


Dark Lord Coffee

by asterismal (asterisms)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Auror Harry Potter, Coffee Shop Owner Voldemort, Crack, M/M, Voldemort is still evil, but this time he's fooling pretty much everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 18:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: “It’s true, you know,” Luna says airily as she stirs her third spoonful of honey into her tea.“Sorry.” Harry looks up from the cover of the Quibbler that he’s been eyeing. Surprising absolutely no one, their most recent cover story is about Voldemort’s new business. “What’s true?”“That Voldemort runs a coffee shop in London,” Luna tells him. She takes a sip of her tea and hums happily at the taste. “I saw him there myself.”Prompt Fill: in which Voldemort runs his empire from a coffee shop and wizards are generally very ridiculous





	Dark Lord Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolf_of_Lilacs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Wolf_of_Lilacs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs) in the [October_Flash_Fest_Part_Two](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/October_Flash_Fest_Part_Two) collection. 

> **Prompt:**  
Voldemort runs his empire from a coffee shop. He thinks he's been subtle about it (the decor is only a little dark, you know? and he's been really careful about his clientele, honest!), but subtlety is just...not his strong suit.
> 
> Wizards are idiots, though, and the only people who suspect him subscribe to the _Quibbler_.
> 
> The Auror office, inundated with letters from concerned citizens about the coffee shop, finally caves and sends in Harry Potter to investigate.
> 
> (Please, just make this as hilarious and absurd as you can, with happy Harrymort ending.)
> 
> It's not the perfect fill, but you know what? I did my best and therefore no one can criticize me.

“You’re sending me _ where?” _

“Look, Potter.” Captain Briggs pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a gusty sigh. “I don’t like it either, but until we send someone to check it out, the reports will just keep coming in. You know how these people can get.”

The worst part is, Harry _ does _get it.

The kind of people who would come to the Aurors with tales of a coffee shop run by _ Voldemort _, of all people, are most definitely the type who will keep pestering them until something is done about it.

“Alright, sir,” he says, just barely holding back a sigh of his own, “I’ll do it.”

“Good man,” Briggs says, cheerfully smacking him on the back in a way that’s probably supposed to be encouraging. “All you need to do is check it out, and then we can lay this whole thing to rest.”

“Right,” Harry says. “I’ll just… get on that.”

And then he doesn’t.

It’s not entirely his fault, he’ll be sure to tell his superiors later. It’s just that the Aurors are always extra busy in the summer months, and he hasn’t had the time.

There’s no other reason.

Honest.

“It’s true, you know,” Luna says airily as she stirs her third spoonful of honey into her tea. 

“Sorry.” Harry looks up from the cover of the Quibbler that he’s been eyeing. Surprising absolutely no one, their most recent cover story is about Voldemort’s new business. “What’s true?”

“That Voldemort runs a coffee shop in London,” Luna tells him. She takes a sip of her tea and hums happily at the taste. “I saw him there myself.”

Harry stills. 

He carefully sets the scone he was about to bite into back on his plate.

“You saw him?” he asks, as calm as he can, “Like, actually _ saw him?” _

“Oh, yes.” 

“Luna.” Harry has to fight the hysteria edging at his voice. “What the _ fuck?” _

She shrugs. “He didn’t appear to be hurting anyone. In fact, I think it’s quite nice that he has a hobby. Don’t you?”

Harry looks back at the Quibbler. 

He thinks he might be having a panic attack.

“Can I take this with me?” he asks, lifting the magazine as he struggles to keep his breaths even.

“Of course,” Luna tells him with a serene smile. She takes another sip then casts a concerned look Harry’s way. “Are you alright, Harry? You look upset.”

“Um, nope. I’m not alright at all, actually.” Harry shoves his chair back and stands. “Thanks for asking, though.”

“Are you leaving?” Luna sets her teacup down. “I can come with you."

“No, that’s alright,” Harry says, and his voice sounds remarkably steady, considering. “Enjoy your tea, Luna, I’ll see you next week.”

That said, Harry turns sharply on his heel and marches out the door. Luna calls goodbye behind him, and Harry waves over his shoulder.

He doesn’t know where he’s going.

All he knows is that as soon as he gets himself under control, he has a coffee shop to visit.

The sign above the door reads _ Dark Lord Coffee_. 

Because of course it does.

After all, when has Lord _ fucking _Voldemort ever known the meaning of the word subtlety?

With a careful breath, Harry forces himself to leave his stakeout spot and marches across the street. He doesn’t even bother looking before he crosses. If some poor soul manages to hit him as he’s jaywalking, well... They can rest easy knowing they’ve saved him from the worst assignment of his life.

Finally, he’s stood right outside the coffee shop, just two steps from the door.

The windows at the front of the shop are blacked out, and one of them looks as if it’s been cracked and then shoddily charmed back together. Compared to the cheerful looking storefronts on either side, _ Dark Lord Coffee _ looks run down. It looks dirty. Like an obvious front.

What on earth was Luna thinking, coming here? Especially when there’s another shop just down the street that’s sure to offer better drinks and also doesn’t look like a cross between a goth’s wet dream and a health code violation just waiting to happen.

With a sigh, Harry shakes his head. _ Dark Lord Coffee _ is exactly the sort of place Luna “thestral-feeder” Lovegood would be happy to visit, and he can’t even try to deny it.

With one last fortifying breath, Harry pushes open the door.

A cheerful ding rings through the air, and Harry is only a little ashamed to admit how he flinches at the sound.

For a moment, there’s only silence. 

Then a crash sounds from what must be the kitchen, and a man storms out to the front, swearing and covered in flour. When he gets a good look at Harry, he pales and runs back to the kitchen, shouting as he goes, “Boss! There’s an Auror at the door!”

Harry spares a thought to leaving immediately, but then he tightens his grip on his wand and steps away from the door, further into the shop. 

All around him, chairs with uneven legs are clustered around a series of squat, square tables. Each table is covered in a knit yellow tablecloth, the only spots of color in an otherwise dull, graytoned room. Thanks to the blacked-out windows, the only light in the room comes from the candles that hover near the ceiling and drip wax on the floor. Overall, it’s a very… unpleasant sort of place. Harry wonders how it’s still in business, if it’s honestly worth the funds that some unfortunate Death Eater is probably being forced to funnel into the place just to keep it open.

Then Voldemort himself appears.

He’s as terrifying as ever. 

In fact, Harry thinks this is almost worse. At least on a battlefield, he knows how to deal with Voldemort. But in a coffee shop? Especially one owned by the man? 

How the hell is he supposed to act now?

As soon as Voldemort sees him, he hisses sharply in anger and rounds on the worker, who must be a Death Eater. Probably a new initiate, Harry thinks, judging by the particular form of subservience he’s currently performing.

The veterans are usually more prideful about it.

“You fool,” Voldemort spits, jabbing his wand in Harry’s direction, “That’s not just some Auror, that’s _ Harry Potter.” _

“Oh, um.” The Death Eater’s eyes dart his way, as if asking for help, and Harry has to bite down a hysterical giggle because honestly. 

What the _ hell? _

“I’m sorry, sir,” the Death Eater finally says. “It, um… Won’t happen again? Sir?”

“Actually,” Harry says, grip on his wand tightening when Voldemort turns his burning gaze his way. “It probably will. Happen again, I mean.”

“What?” Voldemort looks surprised. “Why?”

“Because— Well.” Harry gestures to the shop as a whole, and then toward Voldemort specifically. “You’re _ Voldemort_.” 

“Yes,” Voldemort says dryly, “I’m aware.”

“This is a _ coffee shop.” _

“What’s your point?”

Harry just stares. Just for a moment.

Then he throws his hands in the air and stalks for the exit, deciding he’s dealt with whatever particular brand of crazy this might be enough for today.

“Where are you going?” Voldemort calls after him, sounding put out.

“Away from here!” 

“Don’t you want any coffee?”

“No thanks!” Harry says and disapparates as soon as the door starts to swing shut behind him. 

“What.” Briggs stares him down over the top of the report Harry’s just handed in.

“Believe me,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair and tugging absently at the strands, “I _ know. _I’m the one who saw it, and I barely believe it myself.”

“Potter,” Briggs says, raising a hand, “I can’t accept this.”

He drops the report onto the desk.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you know how preposterous this sounds?” Briggs demands, face turning red. “We can’t tell the masses that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is hiding out in a coffee shop—”

“Actually, sir, I don’t think he’s hiding—”

“—There’ll be mass panic! And what would the Minister think?” He shakes his head, gathers Harry’s report, and tosses it in the bin beside his desk. “No, this won’t do at all.”

Harry’s mouth falls open, a protest dying in his throat. Finally, he finds his voice. “But it’s _ real.” _

“Now, Potter, I have no doubt that you saw _ something _ there today, but _ this?” _ He shakes his head. “Go home, son.”

“Sir—”

“And get some rest.” Briggs sighs, casts another look toward the folder in the bin. “It sounds like you need it.”

The next day, Harry returns to the coffee shop.

“I am _ not _imagining things,” he announces as the door swings shut behind him. 

Voldemort, who’s bent over a book of what must be his sales records, barely looks up. “Good for you,” he drawls. 

Then he goes back to his bookkeeping. 

The Death Eater from before is nowhere to be seen. Instead, a young woman in dark robes hovers at Voldemort’s back, wringing her hands as she watches him go through the numbers. When she sees Harry looking, she blushes and hides her face in her hands, getting ink all over her cheeks.

And Harry?

Harry lets out a strangled, wordless sound of frustration and disapparates right there, not giving a single fuck about how rude it is to leave a place of business through anywhere but the front door.

“It’s not just weird,” Harry says as he paces his way across the kitchen in Hermione’s flat. Neither of her roommates are home, which means he can rant as much as he needs to. “It’s _ absurd.” _

“And you’re saying no one believes you?” Hermione asks, looking concerned.

“No one!” Harry exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “In fact, I’m surprised you believe me at all!”

“Oh, well…” Hermione trails off, looking uncomfortable.

“You… you do believe me, right?” Harry asks. 

“I do, Harry. I swear.” She hops down from the counter and grabs his hands, forcing him to stop pacing. “It’s just… It’s so hard to believe!”

“I know,” Harry says with a sigh. “I mean, until Luna told me she saw him, I wouldn’t even go look.”

“Luna saw him?” Hermione demands.

“Yep.”

“But that’s—”

“I know.” Harry squeezes her hands in his. “I mean, honestly. Can you believe that all she told me is she’s happy he has a hobby?”

Hermione lets out what is most certainly an inappropriate giggle. Harry lets out a startled laugh of his own, and then they both lose it.

“Yeah, actually,” Hermione says once she’s calmed down a little, leaning forward to muffle her laughter in Harry’s shoulder. Harry wraps his arms tight around her. “I think I can.”

Eventually, it becomes a pattern.

At least once a week, usually more, Harry will stop by the coffee shop. 

Sometimes, Voldemort is there when he arrives. Most of the time he isn’t, and Harry gets a few minutes to subtly interrogate his underlings about whatever the fuck is up with this place.

So far, he’s only ever come up with more questions.

The most recent time he’s chosen to stop by, Harry is so taken aback by what he sees that he almost trips over his own feet as he walks through the door.

There’s a customer in the shop.

And Voldemort is taking her order.

“Oh, _ fuck,” _ Harry breathes out as he watches the trainwreck play out in front of him. 

He drifts closer; he can’t help it.Voldemort glares at him over the woman’s shoulder, but Harry can’t look away.

“—I’m not saying your costume isn’t well put together, dear,” the woman is saying, her voice sickeningly sweet as she rifles through her bag, looking for the coins to pay for her drink, “It’s just…”

“Yes?” Voldemort prompts, voice dangerously soft.

“Well, don’t you think it’s a bit…” She finally finds her money and drops a pile of coins into Voldemort’s waiting hand. “A bit tasteless?”

Harry inhales sharply, but Voldemort doesn’t do anything except smile grimly, the expression looking painful on his face.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he says, voice smooth, and Harry only knows he’s angry thanks to the many years of being forced to know the man’s moods as well as his own. 

“You do that, dear,” the woman says as she accepts her drink, which looks truly awful, and heads back out the door, smiling cheerfully at Harry as she passes and says, “What a nice man.”

The door swings shut behind her, and she leaves utterly unscathed.

If Harry had a drink of his own, he thinks he’d choke on it.

“Well?” Voldemort snaps, and Harry shakes himself out of it.

He looks at the man through narrowed eyes, trying to see what that woman saw in him. But he can’t. Instead, all he sees is Voldemort looking… embarrassed? How odd.

“I thought you were going to kill her,” Harry says as he finishes making his way toward the counter.

Voldemort scoffs at him as he sorts through the coins in the register. There’s a surprising amount there. Apparently this place gets more business than he thought.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” the man says with a sneer, “I can’t _ kill _ my _ customers. _ Don’t you know anything about customer service?”

“Well, no. I suppose not.”

Voldemort huffs and slams the register’s drawer closed. “Well, _ I _do. Everyone knows that if you kill all your customers, you won’t have any left.”

“Right,” Harry says slowly. “And that’s bad because…?”

“Because, Potter.” Voldemort plants his hands on the counter and looms over Harry as he explains, as if he’s talking to a child, “If you have no customers, you have no one to sell to. If you have no one to sell to, you make no _ money.” _

Harry just stares. 

“Do you honestly think it’s going to be any different once you’re running a country instead of a coffee shop?” he asks, and, wow, that’s a sequence of words he never could have predicted.

“Of course it will be different,” Voldemort says haughtily. “Once I tear down the Ministry, I can kill whoever I please, because _ I _will always be right.”

Harry frowns. 

“But if you kill your subjects, you won’t have anyone to rule over. And if you have no one to rule over, then you can’t really call yourself ruler of _ anything,” _ Harry points out, feeling particularly slimy at the words that just came out of his mouth.

Voldemort opens his mouth, as if to argue. Then he closes it again and appears to be thinking very hard. Finally, he speaks, and he sounds as if his whole worldview has been shaken.

“That is… correct,” he says, and he sounds almost _ surprised. _

He furrows his hairless brows and turns on his heel, striding toward the kitchen with single minded purpose. 

“Okay,” Harry says to himself as he watches the man go. Then, louder, he says, “I’ll just go, then?” 

There’s no reply, so Harry huffs and disapparates. As he does, he thinks back to the days where all Voldemort was to him was a terrifying shade, haunting his every step. He can’t say he misses those days, but, well… 

The were certainly simpler.

He gives the man a week before going back to the shop.

In that week, there isn’t a single attack from the man’s forces. As much as Harry appreciates the break, he wonders what awful things Voldemort might be taking this time to plan. The thought is just terrible enough that he decides he has to go back.

“Where were you?” Voldemort demands as soon as Harry walks through the door, the cheerful ring of the bell still catching him off guard after all this time.

“What?” Harry asks, pausing midstep. Voldemort seems… upset, and not in his usual way.

It’s odd.

“You haven’t been by in _ days,” _the man complains, narrowing his red eyes. “I almost came and sought you myself.”

“Oh,” Harry says, struck by the thought of the disaster _ that _could have been. “I’m uh… glad you didn’t.”

Voldemort huffs, offended. Then he clears his throat, and if Harry didn’t know better, he might think the man is uncomfortable.

“I have thought about what you said,” Voldemort tells him.

Harry takes a moment to recall what Voldemort is talking about.

“Right,” he says. This should be good. He hops up to sit on the counter, ignoring the way Voldemort bares his teeth in annoyance at him. “Okay, and?”

“And I have decided it matters not.”

“Literally how does it not matter?” Harry asks.

“There are very few people who buy my coffee.”

“Wow,” Harry says, deadpan, “What a surprise.”

Voldemort glares, but otherwise doesn’t address his comment. “When I take over the Ministry, I will rule over the entire population. While the loss of one customer may be enough to send my coffee shop into financial ruin, the death of one citizen will hardly result in the end of my reign.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He feels a pang of something like disappointment in his chest. Had he really dared to hope—? 

Yeah, he thinks with a sigh, he did.

How _ absurd. _

“Well, then.” He hops back down off the counter and runs a hand over his robes, smoothing them out. He has to stomp down on the sudden urge to cry. “I suppose that’s the end of it.”

“The end—?” Voldemort sweeps out from behind the counter and grabs Harry by the elbow before he can walk out of the shop forever. “What do you mean, the _ end?” _

Harry tries to jerk free of the man’s grip, but he’s too strong, so he just grits his teeth and prepares to draw his wand.

“I _ mean,” _ he says, doing his best to dredge up whatever anger he can, “That I will _ never _sit by while you murder innocent people for no crime beyond disagreeing with you.”

“But,” Voldemort flounders. He gestures vaguely around the shop. “They’re _ customers.” _

“They’re _ people.” _

“So?”

“So,” Harry says with a snarl, getting in Voldemort’s face since apparently he isn’t allowed to leave just yet, “If you want to kill _ them _ , you’re gonna have to kill _ me _ too.”

At that, Voldemort releases him, and Harry takes advantage of the man’s sudden stillness to storm for the door. He would disapparate, but he wants the satisfaction of slamming the door behind him as he walks out.

Maybe, if he slams it hard enough, the glass will shatter.

It does.

He doesn’t stick around to watch Voldemort clean it up.

“Alright, Potter, it’s time for you to do something about this.”

Harry looks up from the report he’s writing to see Briggs holding what looks like a handful of magazine pages, all meticulously cut free from their bindings. 

“About what, sir?”

The man drops the pages on his desk.

“About _ these.” _He casts a disgusted look the pile’s way. “I still don’t know what’s up with that coffee shop you investigated, but it’s pretty clear that whoever runs the place wants you coming back bad enough to bug the general public about it.”

As Harry flips through the pages, he can’t help the way his heart flutters as he scans the articles, each and every one about the many ways Voldemort’s shop is becoming less of an eyesore and more of an attractive spot for a client pool bigger than lost old ladies and strange women who wear earrings made of radishes. Even better, every article has a message just for him hidden in its lines.

“So?” Briggs demands, “Are you going to go take care of this?”

“Yeah,” Harry says faintly. Stronger, then, “Of course. I’ll get on it right away.”

This time, he does just that.

As soon as he walks through the door, the young Death Eater working the counter calls for Voldemort. Looking irritated, the man stalks to the front of the store.

Then he catches sight of Harry.

At nothing more than the sight of him in his doorway, Voldemort lights up.

Before Harry can even say anything, however, Voldemort turns on his heel and walks back to the kitchen. Harry looks to the Death Eater for guidance, but they just shrug at him, looking profoundly bored. Finally, Voldemort strides back out, pulling something on over his head. It’s an… apron? 

“Why do you have an apron?” Harry asks. 

“So I can do this,” Voldemort says. 

With his head held high, he strides around the counter until he’s standing at Harry’s side. Then, he pulls the apron over his head and tosses it dramatically to the ground. Harry can’t help but think something made of glass would have had a larger impact.

As the apron drifts silently to the floor, Voldemort proudly says, “I quit.”

The Death Eater looks as if they might faint.

“But,” they say weakly, exchanging a panicked glance with the other Death Eater on duty who’s just come running from the kitchen, “Y-you _ can’t _quit.”

“And why is that?”

“You’re our _ boss,” _the other Death Eater chimes in.

“Not anymore!” Voldemort says triumphantly.

And then, before Harry can even begin to process the scene he just witnessed, the man turns to face him, gathers him in his arms, and disapparates. 

As soon as his feet hit solid ground again, Harry whirls on Voldemort. He has no idea where they are, and seeing as it’s the other man’s fault, he feels no remorse for tearing into him.

“Where the hell are we?” he demands.

“Paradise,” Voldemort says. Harry looks pointedly at the dull gray sky, the way the very flowers at their feet seem to wither away from them, and Voldemort elaborates. “Somewhere I never have to listen to another subject complain.”

Before Harry can think of something more to say, the man takes Harry’s face in his hands and presses the softest kiss Harry has ever felt to his lips. Voldemort pulls away, then, and Harry opens his eyes, forgetting when he’d even closed them. For a moment, they just look at each other, then Harry surges forward and up onto his toes to press his lips to Voldemort’s once more.

Then what Voldemort said registers, and he pulls away, frowning.

“You mean customers,” Harry says, “Not subjects.”

Voldemort only stares

“...Right,” he says, eventually. 

Then, he cradles Harry’s face in his hands and kisses him again.


End file.
